Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Three: Nature 88. We like March, his shoes are purple


We like March, his shoes are purple,

He is new and high;

Makes he mud for dog and peddler,

Makes he forest dry;

Knows the adder's tongue his coming,

And begets her spot.

Stands the sun so close and mighty

That our minds are hot.

News is he of all the others;

Bold it were to die

With the blue-birds buccaneering

On his British sky.